


Raganarok n'Roll

by JessC



Series: The Hammer Collection [1]
Category: Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: F/M, Norse Mythology - Freeform, if I had a hammer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1218292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessC/pseuds/JessC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sample from my upcoming book.<br/>Asgard faces the threat of complete and utter destruction, and Freyja faces some difficult choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A sample from the upcoming book. Links will be posted when it's finished.

Ragnarok n' roll   
By Jessica Chambers  
©2014

A cold wind blew through Valhalla.   
Odin didn't like this kind of wind. It was the kind of wind followed by little specks of rain, as if they couldn't be asked to be a proper rain shower. Lazy raindrops. Hoping one day they'd grow up into a nice storm.  
He wondered if this was Thor's doing, just to annoy him.  
He doubted this highly, as Thor had been preoccupied with that wife of his.  
Then why did this wind make Odin feel so uncomfortable? He shifted his weight around on his throne, trying out his limbs to see if they were all functioning. They seemed to be.  
For now.  
Another wind found it's way to Valaskjalf, and ran under the door, trying to find another way out. This simply caused it to become giddy, and it continued to spin on itself three or four times, whipping up the carpet as it went. It eventually found a way out near the window, squeezing itself out under the pane.   
What on Asgard was it playing at? Odin had never seen wind with such personality.   
Many a wind had blown through his realm, usually a pleasantly warm one, that ruffled the golden leaves and breathed life into the flowers. This wind was wholly different.  
It made everything in it's passage cold and crisp, including Odin's joints, and made the flowers want to dive back underground rather than revive them.  
This wind seemed to bring death.  
That was what disturbed Odin. This malicious air-movement carried with it the stench of death; perhaps not a death that had already come, but a death that would soon be in Valaskjalf, asking whether the old, fat dude was still hanging around there with those crows of his.  
Odin had a sudden empty feeling in his bones. These were the signs he's been waiting for all his life. Now, he knew it. A little trip to Mimir was in order. He hoped he wouldn't ask for his remaining eye, that sort of exchange can't continue.  
It was Ragnarok.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

“Just hold it. Then it will take care of itself.” said Thor.  
Freyja and Thor stood in one of the larger meadows of Thrudvang, surrounded by the pure orange grass and small flowers which didn't, couldn't, wouldn't and shouldn't grow on Earth.   
There was a fresh morning smell in the air, and every now and then a small breeze would come and ruffle Freyja's hair (she suspected it was Thor's doing). The starlit sky shone it's orangey hue down on Asgard, saving it's blues and greys for Midgard and Jötunheim. Ander flew to and from them, but got quickly bored as their lessons didn't seem to be advancing and Mjollnir was being awkward.  
Thor had decided that Freyja had better learn to use Mjollnir, even if only for safety reasons; but Mjollnir was having none of it.  
Freyja would have hardly wrapped her small hands around the stone handle before the hammer would have flown up and shaken her off.   
Nonetheless, they persevered.  
Freya took a deep breath, and placed one hand on the handle.   
As before, the hammer writhed and shook under her palm.   
“Please!” she pleaded between gritted teeth.   
The hammer flew off like a flash, striking Freyja's leg on it's way. She let slip a small shriek of pain and surprise.  
She fell to the ground, nursing her knee. It began pounding and stinging simultaneously.  
“Are you all right?” asked Thor, crouching down to her level.   
She bit her lip and nodded, swallowing the pain.   
“It's OK if it hurts, that's a mountain-crushing hammer.” counselled Thor.  
Freyja giggled weakly and dragged herself to her feet. Her dress seemed to weigh her down more than she had been expecting. She threw her cloak off, trying to lighten her load.   
She braced herself as she saw Thor extend his hand towards the horizon. He bellowed his usual earth-shaking command, and the hammer flew into his open hand much faster than any laws of physics would have allowed. But, this being Asgard, inhabited by gods, the laws of physics were null and void, although they occasionally wandered in by mistake, claiming they were looking for the men's room.  
Thor scolded the hammer in Old Norse.   
Freyja had begun to pick up a few words of this mysterious language, but she suspected the ones that she picked up off Thor while he was in a bad mood were not the more polite ones.  
“Do you want to try again?” he asked softly.  
“Will It cooperate this time?” sighed Freyja.   
The hammer seemed to give her a dirty look, which she promptly returned. It had a face; or at least two eyes and a moustache; made of the Celtic knot-work on the handle which seemed to animate itself without actually moving.  
“It better had.”  
Freyja stretched her shoulders, and placed a hand on the cold stone of the hammer, and grabbed it firmly. As usual, the hammer reacted, it spun around and around. The difference this time was that Freyja's grip was so much firmer that she was dragged along with it helplessly.   
The hammer whizzed off into the sky, and Freyja clung on with both hands, trying to focus on getting back onto terra firma and less about the wind rushing into her face and leaving her gasping for air. She didn't have enough air to scream, and so she just held her mouth open in case some noise decided it could come out.  
The scenery whizzed past her, and she lost her bearings. Her dress whipped back against her legs, and her bruised knee was pounding. She fought back tears, and gripped the handle tighter, until her knuckles turned white.   
The sky and the ground all became one sickening orange blur. The wind rushed past her ears, echoing inside her head. Her hands began to loosen their grip...  
With no warning, the hammer performed a sharp U-turn and rushed back towards the ground.   
They stopped abruptly as Freyja felt the warmth of another hand on the other side of the hammer. She had barely noticed that she had squeezed her eyes shut. She slowly opened them, finding that the rushing wind had near enough welded them shut.   
She looked up and saw Thor in front of her, his face partly obscured by Mjollnir. The part of his face she could see wore a worried expression.  
“By Odin's beard! Freyja, are you hurt?” he asked.   
Freyja found herself uncontrollably shaking, and let go of the handle. She wasn't aware of where her feet were exactly, and so fell quite a distance to the ground, where she proceeded to collapse in a weary heap.   
Thor threw the hammer aside and knelt down by her, wrapping his arms around her to hold her up. Freyja was very grateful for this, as the whole of Asgard still seemed to be spinning. She held her breath, waiting for the pounding in her heart, stomach and knee to stop.  
“I think that's enough practice for today.” Thor said.  
He helped her up and held her as she limped back to Thrudheim. He gave the hammer a sharp kick on the way by.

They sat down in one of the many rooms of Thrudeim. Freyja was given a goblet of mead in an effort to calm her nerves. She sat staring at it for a while before realising she was supposed to drink it.  
“I don't know why Mjollnir's being so stubborn.” Thor sighed.  
“Maybe it doesn't like me. Maybe it's jealous.” Freyja suggested.   
Thor thought about this for a moment.  
“I remember my aunt's dog didn't like her husband at first, we all said it was jealous, but it warmed to him eventually.” she added.  
“How?”  
“Mainly through the unregulated giving of dog-snax. The dog was morbidly obese by their second wedding anniversary.”   
They both laughed a little, before letting the room fall back into a cosy silence.  
“Do you feel any better yet?” Thor asked.  
Freyja swallowed her mouthful of mead and let the warmth flood her limbs before nodding.   
“My knee still hurts a bit, though.”  
Thor gave her a look which indicated that he was not surprised, and that most mountains that had battled with Mjollnir had come off worse than that.  
“Let's go see Frigg, she'll know what to do. She has the largest medicine cabinet in all Asgard.”  
“Why?”  
“Odin's ailments, mainly.”  
He helped her to her feet and they ambled to Bifröst. Thor had decided not to take the hammer.

As they reached the rainbow, they saw Heimdall stood with his eyes closed, as if meditating.   
Thor snapped his fingers in front of his eyes.  
Heimdall flinched, but didn't awaken. He raised one finger to his lips and said: “Ssshhh...” very softly.  
“Heimdall? What are you playing at?” asked Thor.  
No response.  
“Can we get into Valhalla, please?”  
Heimdall pointed a finger towards the gate, then made the motion for them to go away. Thor assumed they could go in.

The usual drunken/dead Vikings loitered around the entrance to Valhalla, eyeing up the Valkyries and letting slip appreciative grunts every now and again.   
This was the part of Valhalla Freyja did not like at all. Sure, the Valkyries were pretty, and most of these guys hadn't seen a woman since they'd died... But then, if faced with the goddess of love, beauty and (apparently) fertility, their reactions became borderline hostile. If they had reacted that way on 21st century Midgard, Freyja would have filed several sexual harassment suits by now, successfully.   
Thor was also aware of this, and so wrapped a protective arm around Freyja. No dead, remotely sane Viking would take on the god of thunder, even if he was immortal.  
As they walked past, Freyja looked at the floor and avoided making eye-contact. She heard the hoots and whistles as she passed each Viking. She cringed.  
They soon made it to Valaskjalf. As the door creaked open, they saw Odin, slumped on his throne, a horn of mead held limply in his hand. His eyes shot up as they entered.  
“What do you want now?” he snapped.  
Thor stood at his full height, which was considerably taller than the old man.  
“I want to see Frigg.”  
Odin stuck his thumb out to the left, towards a wooden door. Thor nodded curtly and led Freyja through. When they reached the other side and had safely shut the door behind them, Freyja decided to ask something that had been annoying her for a while.  
“Why do you call Odin “Father” but you don't call Frigg “Mother”?” she asked.  
Thor turned to her with a small smile on his face.  
“Because she's not my mother.”  
“Oh. But she's married to Odin?”  
“Yes.”  
“And she's not your mother?”  
“No. If anything, she's my half-sister.”  
“Who is, then?”  
“A giantess. I can't remember her name, Odin doesn't talk about that period much.”  
He led her down a corridor, she struggled to keep up with him.  
“So, technically, you're a demigod?”  
“Yeah, I guess.”  
Freyja considered this.  
“This must be the only religion where it's easier to trace the fathers than the mothers.”  
“Nah. You've clearly never been to Olympus.”

They went through another door, and entered Frigg's chamber. It was a well-lit room, with a large four-poster bed at it's heart, surrounded by various cabinets and dressing-tables. Rich tapestries and other soft furnishings flowed into each other gracefully in a cascade of orange and gold.  
“Who is it?” she asked, coming round from behind a screen decorated with a hunting scene.  
“Me, and Freyja.” Thor said.  
Frigg walked over to them, adjusting her coif and smoothing her dress, which was a shimmering, green affair to match the décor.  
“What can I do for you, Sweetheart?” she asked.  
Thor suddenly looked very awkward at the use of “sweetheart” instead of “the god of thunder”; especially after the conversation he had just had.  
“Mjollnir has been sulking a lot lately, and he took it out on Freyja. She's hurt her knee.”  
Frigg adjusted her coif thoughtfully, before going to a cupboard and getting a bottle of ointment.   
“Here. It's sage, it'll bring the bruise right out. I used to use it on Loki when the boys were little.”   
She winked at Freyja and handed the bottle to Thor.  
“I'll be right back, Odin wants to see me. He's convinced it's Ragnarok; I think it's senility myself.”  
She rolled her eyes and tapped the side of her head.  
Freyja sat on the bed and rolled her dress up to reveal her blue-black knee. It looked worse than it felt. Although on second thoughts, it looked about as bad as it felt; Freyja had just developed a very high tolerance for pain.  
Thor opened the bottle with a little 'plop', and the slightly sour smell of sage poured out. It made Freyja think of roast dinner. And Christmas. And Earth.  
“Do you want to put it on?” Thor asked.   
Gingerly, Freyja touched her knee. She felt like she had just plugged it in to 5000 volts. She squeezed her eyes shut to stop tears of pain leaking out.  
“You.” she articulated through clenched teeth.  
Thor knelt down and rubbed the ointment on.   
No pain, no volts. How could he even...?  
“It doesn't hurt.” Freyja breathed. “Why?”  
“It's quite simple. Pain is nerve signals sent to the brain, which in turn are electricity. I'm just taking the electricity. Saving it for a rainy day, if you like.” he smiled  
He held out one hand and made lightening dance between his fingers with small thunderclaps.  
Freyja smiled back.  
She tried to concentrate on the lack of pain she was feeling. It wasn't bad. It was actually quite soothing. She felt the stress and panic from the hammer flight melt away. She watched Thor's hands, and began to feel very drowsy.   
He looked up at her, and clicked his fingers in front of her face. She snapped out of it and blushed at him.   
Even after all this time, she still couldn't quite believe how lucky she was, and couldn't help but blush every time their eyes met. He got up and as he let go of her leg, a spike of pain shot through it, causing her to let slip a squeal of pain.   
He instantly grabbed her leg again.  
“I'm so sorry!” he garbled.  
The pain melted away again, and Freyja sighed in relief. Thor looked up at her sheepishly.  
“I guess the ointment hasn't entirely worked yet.” he mumbled.   
Freyja smiled at him again. He stared intently at her knee for a moment.  
“That should do it.” he whispered.   
He slid his hand off her knee and kissed her leg. This sent shivers down Freyja's spine that didn't feel all that bad, but caused her to physically shake.   
Thor shot a small smirk up at her. He raised himself up to her level, and leaned in to kiss her.  
She made no effort to fight it, but they both snapped out of it as the door creaked open again.  
It was Frigg.  
Thor froze in mid-action, inches away from Freyja's face.  
“Oy!” she teased, “No hanky-panky in here!”  
Thor stepped away from Freyja, sheepishly. Freyja decided to stay where she was, but to quietly turn bright red.  
Frigg waltzed into the room and tidied some objects that were lying around on the dressing-table. She folded a dress draped over the chair, and put it in a drawer. She turned around to face the embarrassed couple. She cocked her head to one side.  
“Sweetheart, your father wants to see you.”  
Thor cringed slightly at the use of “sweetheart” again, but then sighed.  
“It's about Ragnarok, isn't it?” he asked.   
Frigg nodded slowly, an exasperated look on her face.  
Thor left the bedroom with a quick glance at Freyja, which caused her cheeks to turn an even brighter shade of red.  
Frigg turned to Freyja.  
“He's really serious about it.” Frigg sighed. “I mean, we've had false alarms before, but this time, he's really convinced.”  
Freyja nodded slowly.  
“What are we supposed to do if it really is Ragnarok?” Freyja asked.  
Frigg shrugged then smiled absently.  
“We're the lucky ones, if you can say that. Us two remain here, in Asgard, alive and well, while the men go and bash each other's brains out and go to Gimle. And Balder comes back.” Frigg sighed the way one does when one cares about someone, who is then snatched away, but soon busied herself by beginning to fiddle with the quilt on the bed.  
“All the other men?”  
“Yes.”  
“Even-?”  
Frigg cut her off.  
“Yes, even Thor. Sorry.”  
She looked at her sympathetically.  
“Oh,” she paused. “How?”  
Frigg sighed, and began to recite something that had obviously been drummed into her over a long time:  
“Thor fells the Migard-seprent with his Mjollnir, but he retreats only nine paces when he himself falls dead, suffocated by the serpent's venom.”   
Freyja looked down at her knee and began to really hope it wasn't Ragnarok  
“Frigg? What else happens at Ragnarok?” she asked, quietly.  
“All bonds and fetters that bound the forces of heaven and Earth together are severed, and the powers of good and evil are brought together in an internecine feud. Loki advances with the Fenrir-wolf and the Midgard-serpent, his own children, with all the hosts of the giants, and with Surt, the giant who masters fire, who flings fire and flames over the world. Odin advances with all the asas and all the blessed einherjes, the spirits of men brought to Valhalla. They meet, contend, and fall. The wolf swallows Odin, but Vidar, the silent, sets his foot upon the monster's lower jaw, he seizes the other with his hand, and thus rends him until he dies. Freyr encounters Surt, and terrible blows are given ere Freyr falls. Heimdall and Loki fight and kill each other, and so do Tyr and the dog Garm, which Hel has since replaced, from the Gnipa cave at the entrance to Hel. Then smoke wreathes up around the ash Ygdrasil, the high flames play against the heavens, the graves of the gods, of the giants and men are swallowed up by the sea, and the end has come. This is Ragnarok, the twilight of the gods.” she recited, pitch-perfectly.  
“When you put it that way, it almost sounds fun.” Freyja said, bitterly.  
She swung her legs around a little, testing out her knee.  
“How do you know all that?” Freyja asked.  
“I know the fate of all men. Sometimes that is more a burden than a gift.” she sighed.  
“How is your leg feeling?” Frigg added, turning to a mirror to touch up her make-up.   
Despite the heavy coating of lipstick and eye-shadow, dark circles hung under her eyes, crow's feet crept along her temples and grey flecks danced under the cover of her blond hair. Her age was really beginning to show. Although she didn't look altogether too bad for 2500 years.  
“Shouldn't you know?”   
They both let out a giggle.  
Freyja picked the bottle off the bed, and handed it back.  
“Just leave it there, honey. I'll get it later.”  
Freyja obeyed and Frigg whizzed out of the room again.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Loki sat miserably in Hel's hall.  
“I can't believe it!” he snapped.  
“Neither can I.” Hel sighed, in as bored a manner as possible.   
She had sat through this at least seven times. It was getting old.  
“She can't have done this to me!”  
“Well, it looks like she did, Dad.” she sighed again.  
In his head, the scene kept replaying itself.  
Him, Lottie, the park. It came flooding back yet again.  
“I'm sorry, Loki. But this is just too weird for me.”  
She patted his hand, got up from the bench, and walked away.  
He could still hear her footsteps fade away. It stabbed him in the heart like a thousand fiery knives.  
He buried his head in his hands.  
“How could she?” he groaned.  
Hel began to bite her nails.  
“Well, you know, not all chicks are into this 'divinity' thing. Too big a step, too much to handle, you know? Maybe gender or even species never stood in your way, but you're hardly an example.”  
He sat up sharply.  
“I've done it, though!” he proclaimed.  
Done what? thought Hel. Tricked a god or two into harming Lottie? Finally washed those clothes you've been wearing since she broke up with you?  
“I've called Ragnarok!” he cried.  
Hel guffawed.  
“You didn't? You can't have! I know you're upset, but you just have to work through it...” she pleaded.   
She, or anyone else for that matter, was not ready for this.  
“I did. I have. Maybe I'll earn a little respect around here. Be a little more important...”  
“Be a little more dead you mean.” she snapped, “You know what Ragnarok entails! You end up dead, most of Asgard and Midgard and Jötunheim and Muspelheim end up dead!”  
She began to pace nervously.  
“Do you even know what you're getting us into?” she cried, “This is probably the most selfish thing you've ever done, and there's some tough competition!”  
Loki sat staring at her with an irritating, impish smile plastered on his face.  
“Oh well, too late now. Time to face the music.” he oozed.  
With that, he got up, strode across the hall and out of Hel. Hel sank down on her chair, stunned.  
It was the end of the world. Because Loki got dumped.

Thor entered the main hall again.   
Odin was still fat and balding in his chair, but had clearly finished his horn of mead, as he was holding it upside-down. He stared grimly into the middle distance.  
“It's in the wind, son.” he said, not moving his gaze.  
“Father, we've been through this before. It's not Ragnarok.” Thor said, firmly.   
They should have sent him to that home when the dwarves had offered.  
“Look down on Midgard. You'll see it's not right. It's still winter.”  
Thor was baffled. It was June. Not to mention he was often in a really good mood these days.  
“Really?”  
“Look.”  
Odin held up a bowl of water that he used to look in on Midgard. Thor peeped into it, and saw it.   
Snow.  
Piles and piles of snow.   
In June.  
Thor made himself as happy as possible, focused on nothing but warmth and sunlight. On Midgard the sun briefly peeped through, but had no effect on the snow. It soon disappeared again. His eyes popped out of his head (not literally.. It's a figure of speech).  
“No,” he breathed, “the Fimbul-winter!”  
“You see, son? Your powers are already fading. As are Höđr's. He's not the one controlling this winter, Hel and Loki are, I'm damned sure of it.”  
Thor began shaking in his shoes, which he had never done before.  
Gods never needed to fear death, being immortal and all. But now they did. Now they were as mortal as every other lowly human being trying to make something of themselves in an infinitely big universe.  
Thor swallowed and stood upright.  
“When do you think...? When will the battle..?” he fumbled.  
“Could be any time.” he spat.  
Thor's stomach lurched.   
“I see. I'll be off then.”  
Thor gestured towards the door. Odin didn't react, he just continued to stare at the fixed point in the middle distance.   
Watching the wind.

Freyja sat on the bed, not knowing what to do. She didn't know where Thor had gone, and she didn't know her way around Valaskjalf. Out of the window, the same orange light flooded the valley.  
This reminded her that she should probably go and visit her parents sometime. It had been almost a month since she had seen them, but being in Asgard made her lose track of time.  
The door flew open, and Thor walked in.   
Freyja knew something was up.  
“What happened?” she squeaked.  
Thor turned to face her. Never had she seen those blue eyes look so frightened. It made him look strange.  
“I think he's serious.”  
“He's just a doddery old man, he doesn't know what he's saying.”  
Thor walked over to the bed and sat down next to Freyja.  
“My powers, on Midgard, they don't work properly. It's winter down there, even though it 's June...”  
“Six consecutive winters....” Freyja breathed.  
She felt a sort of fear in the pit of her stomach. Not for herself, but for Thor. And for her parents.  
Thor put an arm around her, and they sat that way, in a state of shock and disbelief, as the sun crept behind the Asgardian hills.  
“Shall we go home?” he asked, softly.  
Freyja, unable to speak, nodded, and let him help her to her feet.

By home, Thor meant Thrudheim. Despite the fact that Freyja owned all of Fólkvang, she felt just as at home in Thor's realm. It had been tricky to decide in which one they should take up permanent residence, but after Thor pointed out that he had more rooms than any other realm, and Freyja had only a bedroom, bathroom and entrance hall, the choice was made.  
Freyja still went to Fólkvang quite often to see her friends, Olaf and Erik.   
It hadn't been easy settling in, Thrudheim had been quite a bachelor pad, and only about 3 of the 540 floors were ever used.  
Freyja helped the dwarves clean and tidy the unused rooms, and made Thrudheim into a home.

They stepped over the threshold, into Thrudheim. Mjollnir sat miserably by the door, like a three-year-old that has just had a temper-tantrum and refuses to say sorry.   
Thor spat some more Old Norse at it and it spun around shamefully. Freyja let go of Thor's hand as he walked in, and crouched down next to the hammer.  
“Listen,” she said to it. “I know you can understand me. I want to ask you if we could try again. I mean, we didn't really get off on the right foot, and I would really like to get along with you. I know it would make Thor happy.”  
She attempted to tug at the hammer's heart-strings... If it had any.  
“What do you say? Can we make a fresh start?” she asked.  
The hammer up and flew over the edge of Thrudvang before Freyja knew what happened..  
“Fine.” she said to the horizon. “Have it your way then.”  
She walked haughtily into the entrance hall, where Thor had already sat down by the fire and had begun to polish his boots.  
“Your hammer's gone.” she said, sitting down.  
Thor didn't look up from his polishing.  
“It'll be back. Let it cool off for a while, it'll be fine.”  
Freyja stared at the flames; they left flickering shadows on her eyes as she looked away. A long, crackle-infused silence passed.  
“Is it Ragnarok?” she asked.  
Thor didn't say anything, but abruptly stopped his polishing to look up at her. His blue eyes were full of worry.  
“Maybe.” he said, quietly.  
“If it was, what would happen to you?”  
Thor stood up, carrying his boots.  
“Nothing you need to know about.”  
He put the boots down by the door. Freyja stood up and looked at him squarely.  
“Frigg told me that you'd die.”  
Thor's gaze trailed along the floor as he walked back towards Freyja. He avoided her gaze for as long as possible.  
“She was right.”   
He looked up at Freyja's face, which reflected the worry in his own eyes. She swallowed awkwardly.   
This wouldn't be the nice kind of death where nothing happens, and you were already in the afterlife, so it didn't matter. This was going to be one of those permanent deaths. The ones you can't go back on, that can't be helped.  
“I've always known this day would come... But I didn't want it to come now.” he added. “Not so soon... I want more time with you.”  
He stroked her cheek with his fingers, and she swallowed another sob. Thor noticed this, and wrapped her up in a hug.  
“Don't cry, Freyja. It'll be all right.” he whispered.  
She merely continued to cry quietly on his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him. His cape was soft and warm, and Freyja never wanted to leave go.  
The fire crackled in the corner, and the wind blew from each direction, shaking Thrudheim.  
“Was that you?” Freyja mumbled into his shoulder.  
“Was what me?”  
“The wind.”  
“No.”  
His voice sounded small. This feeling of loss of power was not one he liked or wanted to get used to.  
He tried to take his mind off it, and began playing with Freyja's hair. He loved the way it always curled back to it's original place, no matter how much he'd disturb it. He wrapped a curl around his finger, trying to counteract it's natural shape, with little success.  
They eventually withdrew.  
“We'll find a way around this. We always do.” Thor reassured her.  
Freyja smiled despite her tear-stained face.  
What would Asgard be like without him? Without any of the other gods she knew and loved? Or at least tolerated? How would people get up and down Bifröst without Heimdall? How would the weather be controlled?  
Her mind filled with a thousand questions; but she knew it was better if she kept them to herself. She would find the answer to them herself, in any case.  
“Did you say something about seeing your parents? As in, you probably should?” Thor said as he walked towards the door.  
Freyja nodded.  
“However,” she added, “I don't think we should tell them that the end is nigh. It puts a bit of a downer on the conversation.”  
They both laughed as they made their way back to Bifröst, hand in hand.   
Heimdall stood leaning on his sword, his eyes open and alert this time.   
He walked over to them.  
“Hello. I'm sorry about last time. See, there was the series finale of one of my favourite shows, and I couldn't bear to miss it.” he explained, embarrassedly.  
“Don't worry about it. Can we get down to Midgard?” Freyja asked.  
Heimdall looked very awkward.  
“Are you sure?” he mumbled.  
Freyja felt extremely nervous, and shot a quick glance at Thor.  
“Why?” Thor asked.  
Heimdall shrugged and fiddled with his sword.  
“Ragnarok It's a mess down there.”  
“We'll be fine. I just want to see my parents.” Freyja piped up.  
Heimdall shook his head solemnly, and gestured below. He opened a section of the Bifröst.

Midgard had never looked so desolate. The house's roofs could barely be made out under the snow, and it continued to fall in constant drifts. Snow swirled around, but not in it's usual pleasant way. This snow seemed to be malevolent in everything it did, unlike Thor or Höđr's snow that fell gently an quietly. Never had Freyja seen such noisy snow. It felt as if it was blowing around her, whistling through her head, and was bitterly cold.  
“How are we going to find my house?” Freyja shouted over the wind..  
“Let's forget about it!”  
“But what about my parents?” Freyja asked, beginning to panic.  
If two gods could barely survive in this frozen wasteland, how could two humans?  
“I'm sure they're fine. They're inside a house, we're not. They probably have heating.” he shouted.  
All Freyja made out was “fine, “house” and “heating”, but this was enough to reassure her. She nodded and Thor commanded the Bifröst again.  
They collapsed at Heimdall's feet as it closed abruptly.  
“Don't say I didn't warn you.”  
They shook the snow off themselves.  
“Heimdall,” Freyja began, “I need a favour.”  
She hobbled towards him.  
“Of course.”  
“Please look down on Midgard, and see if my parents are all right.” she pleaded.  
Heimdall looked down at her and took her hand.   
“They're not in Midgard. They were going to be sent to Hel, but as they have contacts, I sent them to Fólkvang instead.”  
Freyja took a moment to process this information, before crying again.  
“My parents are dead?!” she cried.  
“Well, yes. But not quite. They're in the afterlife, and quite well. But they're far from the only casualties. Almost the whole human race will be wiped out.”  
Freyja wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She dropped Heimdall's hand and ran through the gate to Fólkvang, with Thor following her.  
She burst through the door to Sessrúmnir, to find her parents sat chatting convivially with Olaf.  
“Mum! Dad!”  
Freyja felt more tears spring to her eyes. She ran over to them and hugged them.  
They soon explained how they had shuffled off the mortal coil, after the house was submerged in snow, the food supplies ran low and the water pipes froze. The rest is, as they say, history.  
Freyja found herself shaking as they filled her in.   
This was the sort of death she preferred, and had become used to. Temporary death, more of a displacement than a death. The people weren't actually gone, just elsewhere; you could still go and see them.  
Unlike-...  
She cut her thoughts off where they were. She was not going to let herself think about that.  
“So, has much been going on in Asgard?” her mother asked.  
Thor and Freyja couldn't help themselves, and burst out laughing. All the stress and worry of Ragnarok needed an outlet, and even if this wasn't the best time, it would have to do.   
Her parents, however, just stared at them. Thor eventually composed himself.  
“It's the end of the world. Not just your world, but ours too, to an extent.” he explained.  
“What do you mean?”  
Freyja stepped forward.  
“There is going to be a great battle, and Asgard will lose it's finest men.”  
She looked down at the floor, letting what she said slip off her, refusing to let it sink in to her own brain.   
These were just words.   
Separate words by themselves don't mean anything, they're simple jumbles of letters.   
Who decides on a word's meaning? Surely the user.   
Therefore, if the user doesn't want them to mean what everyone else thinks they mean, then they don't.  
In such a case, Freyja's sentence of: “Asgard will lose it's finest men” actually meant: “I think there is cat climbing my dress.” (which was in fact true; one of the cats that pulled Freyja's chariot had wandered in and was hoping that visitors meant treats).  
The other participants in the conversation, however, understood from the sentence: “Asgard will lose it's finest men” that Asgard was going to lose it's finest men.  
They turned their uneasy eyes towards Thor, who was doing his best to stand tall, but was weighed down by fear and his cape. The guests decided to turn away again, and visibly began searching for another conversation subject.  
A light breeze ruffled the curtains, and the embroidery weaved in the half-light. The ground outside appeared to shake, and the trees waved their leaves like flags at a football match.  
Out the window, a speck appeared on the horizon, and began growing rapidly. Freyja walked towards the window, trying to make out a shape.   
Flames flicked from behind the speck.   
Freyja squinted into the distance. The hazy afternoon sky made everything seem wavy.  
Thor joined her at the window, and the panes shook.   
In one of his unnervingly fast moves, he threw Freyja to the floor, and was hoisted to the back of the room as fast as a thunderbolt. The whole pantomime was followed by a crash.  
Freyja sat on the floor, bemused, taking a moment before realising that the speck had been Mjollnir, and Thor had been hoisted to the back of the room by the hammer.  
He hung awkwardly for a moment before dropping, with Mjollnir. He cursed the hammer in Old Norse, leaving Olaf with an expression that seemed to say: “not in front of the guests!”. This didn't make much difference as most of the guests were relatively unacquainted with this ancient language.  
Freyja's father clapped his hands in the typically English “I need an excuse to get out of here” way.   
“Well, this Olaf fellow was kind enough to show us where are rooms are for all eternity, maybe we should go and settle in?” he hinted heavily to his wife.   
She nodded and left the room with a quick smile in Freyja's direction, following her husband.  
Olaf left Thor to curse his hammer alone, and scurried back towards a feast-hall.  
“Why did it come back?” Freyja asked.  
She found herself shaking from the experience. She swallowed and composed herself.  
“It always comes back eventually. It just needed to cool down.”   
He held the hammer gently, as if it was a small child. Freyja stared slightly jealously at the spoiled hunk of stone. The hammer sat in Thor's arms smugly.  
This hammer was the worst cow Freyja had ever met, and she'd met a few. She strode over to Thor.  
“How long did Odin say we had before the Battle?” she asked.  
“Any time now.”  
“What do you plan to do with your last days alive?” she whispered, meeting his gaze and placing her hand on his.  
“I guess... I suppose I always planned to spend my last moments with those I love the most.”  
Wordlessly, Freyja took his hand, and he let the hammer fall to the floor as she lead him upstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3

Freyja lay in bed. She felt quietly revitalised. And slightly cold.  
She pulled the covers around her, they swallowed her like a red and gold ocean, and she tried to remember what was going on....  
It was Ragnarok.  
That was it. The world was ending, and she was lying here in bed, unable to do anything about it. Thoughts danced around her head, mockingly, as she was unable to catch up with them. She reached out and grabbed one. It wriggled and tried to escape her grasp.  
What did it say? She looked closer.  
“Thor”.  
Her heart began to melt and she suddenly remembered what had happened.  
She spun around in bed.   
Like a large, golden statue, Thor lay there, sleeping, unperturbed by her sudden movement. She allowed herself to smile, a private, slightly sad, smile. She watched his chest bob up and down with each breath, hoping and praying it would do so forever.  
The more she watched, the less real he seemed. Too good to be true. A character thought up one dark winter night in an effort to explain thunderstorms to a frightened child.  
But if that was all he was, surely, the same applied to her?  
It couldn't. She had been human before. Even if all of Asgard ceased to exist, she would still be a corpse, out there, somewhere. As real as the nose on your face. But Thor would just... go. Disappear. Be lost to the ages.  
She closed her eyes, and enjoyed the peace, ignored the uncertainty as well as the unwelcome certainty that now plagued their lives.   
Death. That was certain. Too certain for Freyja's liking.  
One thing was sure. She was going to enjoy every last minute she and Thor had together. Thor had shown her the time of her life before she died, it was time for her to return the favour.  
“For as long as we both shall live.” the voice in her head piped up.  
Freyja's emotions were not expecting this last remark, and tears began to roll down her cheeks.   
How could love be so wonderful yet so painful at the same time?  
This almost confirmed a similar theory to that in which it is said that for every moment of tenderness experienced, somewhere else in the universe, a simultaneous unfortunate moment is experienced by somebody else.   
It was as if the Universe could only give out a certain amount of joy at any one time, so for an even balance, it created love. Something that could just as easily give life as take it away. Something that could put you on the top of the world, or drop you down an emotional well with no escape.  
On a whim, she leaned over, and examined his face. He looked as if he had been poured and moulded out of white gold. He almost gleamed and shimmered in the evening light. She tried to imagine waking up to an empty space where he lay, but couldn't, or wouldn't; she wasn't sure which.  
She reached out and stroked his cheek. He stirred and woke up, shattering his statuesque pose.  
“Freyja? Are you all right?” he mumbled.  
He too reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek.  
“I'm fine.” she sniffed, although this was one of the biggest lies she had ever told (the biggest being the time she told her teacher that she had killed one of her classmates in a dispute over some Lego when she was in pre-school).  
“No, you're not.”  
More tears joined in the party on her cheeks, as they had been feeling left out.  
“I'm sorry...” she choked.   
He wrapped his golden arms around her, and held her close.  
“Don't cry, don't cry...” he said, softly, cradling her like a baby.  
She made an effort not to cry, but his presence and their being together this way just made it worse.  
“I don't want you to die.” she sobbed, burying her head in his chest.  
She wasn't sure if he heard her, but he began mumbling things in Old Norse, and even though Freyja didn't fully understand, these strange sounds seemed to comfort her.  
She needed to pull herself together, and stop burying Thor before the battle had even begun.

That day, Thor left Freyja alone, wanting to practice some moves for the battle. In an instant she fled upstairs, to her wardrobe.  
Freyja had one secret that she kept from everyone. Her own mother barely knew about it.   
When she had left Midgard for good, she had kept a box of her 21st century prized belongings. It consisted of her laptop, her phone, (she had managed to convince her mother that there was an electric grid in Asgard, and a socket in her room, thus making it so), some books and her pocket telescope. She hid it in the back of her wardrobe, behind her more lavish dresses, where no-one would ever find it.  
She hadn't needed to go to it often, only when she was feeling particularly homesick; and right now, she didn't want to feel a part of Asgard. Despite the fact she couldn't get back to the Midgard she knew, she would have to try the next best thing. Memories.  
She pulled the box out, and held her books. In Asgard they were all written in Old Norse, in runes, which Freyja had yet to understand. Reading plain English seemed almost frivolous. She felt it was almost wrong to be able to decipher letters on a page.   
It was certainly kinder to her eyes.  
She dug out her telescope. It still seemed so wrong for the stars here to be in the wrong place, or to be just... Different from the stars on Midgard.  
No. Not Midgard. Earth.  
The little blue planet hurtling around a sun in a vastly bigger Universe, created by a Big Bang, built of atoms and molecules... Home.   
She missed it. She had taken it for granted at the time, as everyone does, but now it meant so much to her. It was her past, and the future that would never be.  
She had wasted so many years in school, trying to build herself up to be something great; among men, at least. What was the point in it all if you were just going to chuck it away?  
Although, how many people are secretly gods on the inside?  
Perhaps a little perspective was necessary.  
So, she'd lost near enough eleven years to school, but now she was immortal, and could more than compensate for eleven lost years.  
But what about her dreams? Everything she was going to be?  
An astrophysicist. That was her ultimate goal. Although she had always been torn between being a career woman or a housewife and mother. Looks like that decision had been made.  
But that didn't mean she was going to give up one for the other. She could do both...   
How does one continue one's studies when one is living in a culture that thinks the first people came from a giant's armpit?  
She shoved the box back into it's hiding place, and heard a chink of glass as it hit the back wall. Freyja was very sure that she didn't keep any glass in the same place as her clothes. She stepped inside, moving her dresses aside, half expecting to find a faun and a lamppost on the other side.  
There was a wooden wall at the back of the wardrobe. She ran her fingers down it, following the grain, until her hand struck something cold and metal.   
It was a handle. Letting curiosity get the better of her, she pulled it. It was stuck. She pulled again.   
It wouldn't budge.  
Her hand slid further down the door, and she found her problem. There was a keyhole below the handle. It looked made for a particularly large key, nearly as thick as her little finger. In the half-light, Freyja could tell that the lock was made of an orangey metal.  
She heard footsteps come up the back passage to the bedroom, and she hurried out of the wardrobe, dragging several dresses with her. She toppled onto the floor buried under layers of fabric.  
The door opened.  
Thor's head peeped a little nervously into the room. As he caught sight of her he held in a laugh, and coughed awkwardly.  
“Is everything OK?” he asked.  
She joined him picking up the dresses.  
He looked sceptically at the clothes and raised an eyebrow.  
“May I ask, why were you under these dresses when I came in?” he questioned.  
“Have you ever seen a bronze key, about the size of my little finger?” she replied quickly.  
“What's that got to do with the price of fish? Why are your dresses on the floor?”  
“Spring cleaning.” she snapped, “Ever seen a key like that?”  
“No! And why is it so important?”   
He looked genuinely baffled, Freyja decided to drop the subject.   
“Never mind.”  
She hung her dresses back up.  
“What's the matter with you tonight? You're acting really... Odd.”   
“Nothing. I'm just... Tired. That's all.”  
Thor looked her up and down. Everything seemed to be where it should be, she didn't look pale or anything... But something wasn't right.  
“Do you want to go to bed?” he asked.  
She hung up the last of her dresses.  
“Um... Yeah, good idea.”  
She spun around, trying to remember where the bedroom door was. Her head was suddenly full of questions about the wardrobe, and the key.  
“Door's there.” he gestured.  
Freyja blushed and walked through it smartly.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 4

As Freyja lay in bed, an icy chill went down her back. She glanced out of the window, it was nearly dawn. Thor continued to snore peacefully next to her.   
She had a sinking sensation in her stomach. Something big was about to happen. And not necessarily something good.   
Her covers seemed to weigh her down, choke her. The air drained from the room and she threw her sheets off.   
Thor barely stirred, even though Freyja began to fidget, trying to get comfy, trying to clear her head and her chest. She had heard of a female intuition, but she had always presumed it was a rather discreet sensation, like a gentle pat on the back when your friend bumps into you at the supermarket. This was more like a full frontal slap in the face.   
She knew what was happening.

A sour smell filled Asgard. The plants and animals stirred.   
Odin snapped up from his sleep. The wind bit his ankles, more literally than he would have liked. It was coming. Now. The battle would soon be fought. And won. Or lost, it depended on how you looked at it. He leapt up from his throne, sword in hand.  
He had seen Mimir. He knew what was to happen.

In the distance, a horn blew. A horn that would wake sleeping children, that could make mountains crumble, that could burn out the sun. The Gjallar-Horn.  
Ragnarok had arrived.


End file.
